


Metamorphosis

by emirozus



Category: The Walking Dead (TV)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-04-18
Updated: 2014-07-29
Packaged: 2018-01-19 21:25:44
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 4
Words: 14,047
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1484611
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/emirozus/pseuds/emirozus
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>She wasn't made for this world, but she'll learn to adapt to it. Her survival is dependent on her change. Beth tries to find Daryl, and in the meantime, she learns to cope with her trauma. Post 4x16.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. no time for tears

**Author's Note:**

> let's just say the season finale destoryed me. also, the flashbacks with beth + the sheriff hat may or may not have inspired this.  
>  **trigger warning: rape.** this is rated a hard T. cross-posted @ ff.net

 

 

Long after the days begin to blur together in her head, Beth forms a plan.

She's figured out the rotations of the men. The strong, bulky one comes in right after the light peeks through the boarded-up window near the ceiling. After him, she counts for two hours before an old, balding one takes his turn. Beth can hear the hustle and bustle of lunch time in a nearby room, and afterwards a variety of different men have their way with her broken, hollow body until they've been satisfied thoroughly. The sun sets, the crickets and cicadas start chirping, and the final man takes his turn.

This man, Beth has noted, is younger than the rest. He talks more than any of the other men who visit her. He talks about how good of a girl she is, how pretty and tight her body is, how he fucks better than any of the bastards set up in the camp. His words used to feel like sharp needles insistently poking at her skin, but now Beth is numb, and they bounce off her conscience like some kind of sick, everlasting game. Beth has studied this man.

After a while — Beth can't quite say how long — the men leave her unchained. They see the way she curls around herself before and after they do the deed and they deem her a domesticated, fragile pet. For the most part, they're right; for days on end Beth convinces herself that she will live the rest of her life locked up in this cellar being raped five or ten times a day by men whose names she will never know, but faces she will never forget.

Then one day, she changes.

 

* * *

 

Sometimes, more than one man visits her. One man will violate her, and the other will watch with a drink in their hand or a cigarette between their lips. There's conversations occasionally, but Beth has managed to tune everything out in hopes of being able to ignore the man between her thighs. Beth will catch a couple of things every once in a while, but nothing ever interests her.

"I swear," a blonde man leaning against the cellar wall begins, fiddling with a worn lighter and a cigarette for a moment. "If I see one more goddamned Terminus sign, I think I'll burn it down."

The man hovering over her chuckles and his lips curl, showing yellow, rotten teeth. "Wonder how many people fall for that trap a day."

"Trap, huh? You think they kill every son of a bitch who knocks on their front door?"

Beth's legs are yanked apart. "Nah. Probably fuck most of 'em instead." The man grins at Beth, her glassy eyes barely registering it.

In her peripheral vision, Beth sees the blonde man step up behind the other one. "Bet your little bowman friend is there right now, living a good life, not even considerin' how you're doin'." After the men finish with her and cut the lights off, Beth sits up in the cellar and pushes herself back against the wall. She looks up at the window in the corner of the room, and the men's conversation plays in her head.

For the first time in forever, Beth thinks of Daryl.

 

* * *

  

Perhaps the most valuable thing that Daryl has ever taught her is how to kill a man. On a night after they'd burned down the moonshine cabin, the duo sit around a fire chewing overcooked squirrel meat while the brisk air kisses at their exposed skin.

"Daddy used to tell me this story about how he and my uncle went on a camping trip one summer," she starts, wiping her fingers on her pants. "They lost all their food when my uncle accidentally kicked both their packs off a cliff while he was sleeping." Beth laughs and Daryl rolls his eyes.

"That's 'bout the dumbest thing I ever heard," Daryl chuckles in between bites of squirrel.

Beth laughs as well. "Yeah, I think so too. Basically, they woke up with no food and easily twenty or thirty miles between them and their car. Now, my uncle had this grand idea that the two of them should test out their survivin' skills, right there in the middle of the woods. So they go out there, they shoot this squirrel, they cook it up with a fire, and they eat it."

"How'd it taste?"

She grins then, all her pearly-whites glinting in the firelight. "Daddy said it was just about the closest thing to eatin' his own shoe he's ever had."

Daryl's eyes crinkle as Beth laughs at her own story, her fingers tangled in the fringe of her blanket. "I'd have to agree with your dad. Squirrel ain't the most tender of meat."

Beth's laugh dies as the fire crackles into the night's air. She looks at Daryl then, eating his squirrel meat viciously and savagely like he's crunched on time, and she thinks he's the most beautiful thing she's seen lately. Beth hurriedly flicks her eyes away as he looks up at her.

"Y'know, sometimes I dream about killing him," Beth says into the fire. She can almost hear Daryl stop chewing. "The Governor. Sometimes I dream that I'm standing right behind him when he kills my daddy and I grab Michonne's sword and I try to cut 'em to pieces, but I just keep poking him like some kind of pincushion."

She looks at him as he swallows. "Ain't nothin' comforting 'bout that kind of dream."

Her laugh is bitter and fragmented, a complete one-eighty from her usual tinkling giggle. "If I was standin' behind the Governor when it happened, and if I had the chance to kill him, I don't think I'd know what to do."

Daryl doesn't respond immediately; he finishes his squirrel and licks his fingers clean, washing it down with a meager sip of water. When he's done, he looks at her —  _really_  looks at her; Beth can feel his icy eyes burn straight through her bones — and then clears his throat awkwardly.

"First thing you do when you wanna kill someone is figure out how to not be killed by them," Daryl says, hands held out in front of him. Beth's eyes are wide as he continues talking.

"Sometimes they've got a gun, and if you're face to face that means you gotta be real sure to go low so you don't get shot. If they've got a knife, keepin' their arms away from you is the most important thing. If they've got a bow, you wanna keep moving at all times."

Daryl explains to her then how to kill a man in many situations she's never thought of. It's full of hesitation and awkward tension, but Beth listens patiently as he uses his hands to demonstrate how to thrust a knife or how to handle a chokehold. He's blunt and graphic, but Beth wouldn't have it any other way because sugarcoating how to murder someone is the most ridiculous thing she can think of. At the end of his lesson, there's silence as Daryl fleetingly glances at her as she evenly blinks at him, hands clasped together under her chin.

"Thank you," she says. "Maybe my dreams will end differently now." And they do.

 

* * *

  

Beth can usually hear the stairs to the cellar creak as the men come down the stairs. She knows they never rush; they take slow, haughty steps as if they imagine her behind the closed door flinching at each step they take. Beth gives herself five or six seconds of leeway time.

Dragging the crate over to the corner of the room with the window, Beth tests the strength of the wooden box. She's easily under a hundred pounds now although she wasn't much before, and she's almost pleased with herself when it doesn't collapse under all her weight. Standing on the tips of her toes, Beth's hand brushes a rusted nail.

She can tell the boards were thrown up hastily and without a hammer, most likely with the butt of a gun or something else. The nails are surrounded by damaged, splintered wood, and Beth picks the most accessible one and starts to get to work. In minutes her nails are short and bleeding as she claws and pulls at the splinters around the nail, but she is almost giddy when she can grab the edge of the nail and tug.

Her joy is cut short by the telltale thumping of heavy boots on old stairs, and Beth whirls around in fear. She jumps off the crate, pushes it as silently as she can somewhere near to where it used to be while dumping her pile of splinters into a can, and curls up on the floor, trying to steady her breathing. The door swings open and the balding man spits onto the floor in a greeting, unbuttons his pants, and gets to work.

After her usual routine of laying limp and lifeless, after the young man visits her at midnight and whispers in her ear, Beth looks up at the boarded window with almost unnoticeable droplets of blood on it, and she smiles.

 

* * *

 

A few sunsets later, Beth has pulled the nail from the wood. There's been several close calls, but the immensely strong feeling of satisfaction as she grasps the long, rusted nail in her dirty palms is indescribable. Beth's pants never stay on her much anymore, so she tucks the nail into her sock and prays she doesn't pierce herself. Beth waits until the day of her bi-weekly feeding, and then counts down the unbearable minutes to midnight. Beth leans against the back wall and fiddles with the nail, imagining how she's going to kill the man over and over again in her head. It's like a script, and as the moon shines through the window, Beth knows her lines.

The young man struts down the stairs, and her eyes glue onto him as he opens the door and shuts it behind him. Beth knows he can tell there's something different about her as he arches his brow. "Lookin' a little alert tonight, aren't we?"

Beth doesn't say anything until he has his pants down and he's ready, tugging on her leg until she's flat against the floor. Clearing her throat and speaking for the first time in weeks, Beth's gravelly voice echoes in the empty room. "You don't hurt me as bad as the others."

The way he fucks her that night is mindless, and he's more talkative than ever, his head buried in her hair and her legs pushed up against her chest. It's perfect and ideal in every sense of the way, and he doesn't notice as Beth's hands slip into her socks and pull out the nail. Just like Daryl told her, she drives it up his jugular, waits until she feels him freeze and hears the first gurgle, and then pushes him away from her.

Hastily, Beth rummages through his discarded pants until she finds his belt with his knife attached. She feels like God, who has not been on the forefront of her mind for quite some time now, might have just given her a blessing. Beth ends his sadistic life with a knife through the skull, and she stares at the blood on her hands. It's thinner than walker blood, but it gives Beth a sense of relief.

Beth quickly throws on her torn clothes and cinches the man's belt around her bony hips. He's got a gun with ammo right beside his knife, and Beth almost barks out a laugh at how much these men underestimated her. Beth knows she has time, so she pops out the remaining nails with her knife as quietly as she can and gently sets the wooden boards on the floor. Concentrating all of her waning strength, she pulls herself up through the window into the night air.

She hasn't smelled the freshness of the woods at night in such a long time that Beth considers standing there just to let it sink in. She's not stupid, so she looks around for a patrol before bolting through the trees as fast as her thin legs can take her. She runs until the sun comes up over the horizon, and by dawn she collapses on cold asphalt. With her face pressed against the road, Beth laughs until she can't breathe.

Pushing herself up, Beth looks left and right. She has a fifty-fifty shot towards a town with food, water, and supplies. Surprising herself, she takes off towards the woods, Daryl's voice echoing in her mind.

 

* * *

 

Days go by, and Beth survives. She gathers water from a stream into a plastic bottle she finds in the woods, and she spends almost an hour stalking a squirrel until she pounces, severing the critter's head and leaving its starving, malnourished body untouched. As she skins it and roasts it on a small fire, Beth remembers when she was doing the same thing with Daryl at her side, teaching her how to track and how to kill. When Beth finishes her squirrel and licks her fingers, she checks her traps and sleeps for a brief few hours.

In the morning, Beth keeps moving with no endpoint in mind. She doesn't know where she is; Beth is certain she's still in Georgia, but she could be hundreds of miles away from the funeral home in any direction. She vaguely remembers Daryl leading them north after the fall of the prison, so she watches the sun rise before heading south. She only runs across a couple of walkers before she finds train tracks weaving in and out of the woods, but Beth keeps her cover as she follows the tracks from the safety of the trees.

As Beth stops to wash herself in a dirty, muddy pond, she hears the distant moan of a walker and finishes up with a sigh. Drying her hands on her shirt, Beth unsheathes her knife before following the noise until she finds a small herd of them mindlessly stumbling down the tracks. There's only six or seven of them, but in Beth's weak and vulnerable state she knows she will never have a chance unless she moves as silently as possible. Taking a breath to steel herself, Beth moves forward.

She stops when the skittering sound of a rock hitting metal breaks the constant noise of moans and nature. Beth quickly ducks behind a tree, eyes glued onto the herd that moves towards the clattering pebble. Beth can handle animals, she can handle walkers, but Beth doesn't know if she can handle a human while she's so unprepared in the wilderness. Her breath comes out in shaky, stuttered intervals, and she crouches behind the tree, eyes scanning the edge of the woods on the other side of the tracks.

When Tyreese steps out from behind the foliage, Beth almost collapses in both shock and relief. She shakily pulls herself to her feet and grips her knife hard, watching as the burly man destroys the herd with little effort. He stands amidst the bodies, clothes splattered with blood, and finishes off the stragglers.

Beth almost runs to the tracks to meet him, stopping only when the crunch of her boots on leaves causes Tyreese to whirl around with his gun aimed at her face. She can't stop her small smile when he lowers his weapon and his eyes widen in disbelief.

"Beth?" he says, his confusion reflecting in his intonation. "That you?"

"Yeah," she replies, out of breath. "It's me."

Tyreese huffs and slides his gun between his shirt and his pants. "Well I'll be damned," he says, stepping forward and crushing her in an unexpected hug. She was never close with Tyreese — she often talked to Sasha instead — but finding a familiar face after her life was ripped away from her is such a comforting thing that she weakly squeezes him back.

As he pulls away, Tyreese gives her a weak smile, and Beth notices how empty his eyes are, how shallow and lifeless they seem. She doesn't question it; she's sure hers look the same. Beth clears her throat as Tyreese looks at her, and she opens her mouth to speak until she's interrupted.

"Tyreese?"

Beth peers around him to see who is speaking, the voice painfully familiar. Beth sees Carol and, cradled close to her chest, little Judith Grimes, who beams down at her from the treeline.

At the sight of the infant's face, seemingly unscathed by the wilderness around them, Beth almost weeps on the spot. Instead she approaches Carol, runs a knuckle over Judith's soft and pudgy cheek, and tries to hold down the tears as Judy gurgles and reaches out towards her.

"Looks like she's happy to see you," is all Carol says, a small, patient smile on the older woman's face. Beth laughs through her tears and sheathes her knife, arms out to hold the baby.

"I'm happy to see her too."

 

* * *

 

Later that night after Tyreese and Judith head to bed, Carol steadily asks her how she managed to survive all alone in the woods. Hesitantly, she tells Carol about Daryl.

"He taught me how to track, how to hunt, how to kill." Beth says, hands fiddling with the tattered edge of her shirt.

Something in Carol's eyes react as Beth mentions Daryl. "He's dead?" Carol asks, voice faltering on the last syllable.

"Don't know," Beth sighs. "He's just gone."

Carol doesn't ask her to elaborate, and Beth's grateful she doesn't. She finds herself unable to put words together to describe her past situation, her relationship with Daryl, her utter dedication and fondness of him. Beth rubs her temples. "I want to find him."

"I'm sure you do," Carol says. "We're heading towards Terminus. Have you seen the signs?"

Beth hasn't. "No. I've heard of it."

There's a question in Carol's eyes at the vagueness and discrepancy in Beth's answer, but the woman has an unimaginable ability to read and sense people's emotions, so she doesn't say a word.

"Daryl might be there. Hopefully, Rick will be too."

Beth looks at the fire crackling in front of her, and she can almost taste the overcooked squirrel on her tongue. Daryl's barking laugh, his potent eyes, and the sound of him screaming at her to run tattoo themselves into her mind.

"Yeah, hopefully," she says.

 

* * *

 

In the morning, the four of them take off down the tracks, Judith in Beth's arms. She tries to summon her past optimism and hopefulness, but it just rings dead in her mind. Beth notices the concerned glances Carol throws her way and the silent looks thrown between her and Tyreese. The blonde doesn't say a word; she just bounces Judith in her arms and keeps her eyes glued forward.

 _Daryl_ , she repeats in her mind like a mantra. _Daryl_.

 

 


	2. instability

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The blonde tries to focus on anything else other than the bloody letters on the wall, but suddenly she's back in her cellar again, ghost hands running up and down her thighs, under her clothes, over her body. Beth feels the sharp pain of the first time she was raped, she tastes the sweat-soaked rag they gagged her with. She feels the chains agitate the raw skin of her wrists, but her slick hands soaked in the young man's blood easily slip out of them. She can imagine the texture of the old, rusted nail in her palm, and she sees the red seep through his teeth as she pierces the young man's skin.
> 
> Beth looks down, sees Judith in her imaginary blood-soaked arms, and she screams.
> 
> In which Beth grows used to traveling with companions.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thanks for all the kudos, comments + bookmarks! it's very welcoming :)  
>  **still rated a hard T.** cross-posted @ ff.net

 

 

The first time the four of them run across one of Maggie's messages is two days after Beth approached Tyreese at the tracks. Judith's formula is running low, but Beth is pleased to see that Carol has taken the initiative in easing Judith onto solid food. As limited as healthy, baby-friendly foods are in the middle of the woods, it's a little more easier to come by than formula. The group takes a detour down a road in hopes of finding some kind of small town or subdivision that hasn't been completely ransacked. It's a risk, but Carol notes their path so they can find their way back to the tracks.

Tyreese's even gait stutters as the women follow in line behind him. Carol slides up beside him as he stops, eyes scanning the road ahead for any kind of trouble. "What is it, Tyreese?"

"That building," he starts, voice deep and rumbling like thunder. "It's got Glenn's name on it."

Beth's eyes slide up from Judith's face, her gaze locked onto the building. She quickly follows Tyreese and Carol as they move closer to inspect. The worn out building says:  _Glenn, go to Terminus. Maggie, Sasha, Bob._

Just the sight of her sister's name causes Beth's heart to contort inside her chest. Scenes flash through her head: Maggie's scream torn from her throat as their daddy is decapitated, Maggie insisting  _we've all got jobs to do_ , Maggie's retreating back as she goes to fetch Glenn from the prison. Her imagination gets the best of her, and Beth starts seeing Maggie's deteriorating body, limbs scattered around the forest floor, eyes white and lifeless, her skin cold and bloody.

Beth flinches and gasps when Carol places a gentle hand on her upper arm, rearing back while clutching Judith painfully to her chest. The infant whines against her skin as Beth's wild eyes meet Carol's, and the older woman's stare is calm yet concerned as she slowly lowers her arm.

"Are you okay?" is all Carol asks.

Beth knows she's alright. She's supposed to feel relief because Maggie, Sasha, and Bob are alive, not the heavy weight of suffocation and the oh-so-familiar ache of a hurting heart.

"Fine," Beth squeaks out, her chest constricting. "Fine."

The blonde tries to focus on anything else other than the bloody letters on the wall, but suddenly she's back in her cellar again, ghost hands running up and down her thighs, under her clothes, over her body. Beth feels the sharp pain of the first time she was raped, she tastes the sweat-soaked rag they gagged her with. She feels the chains agitate the raw skin of her wrists, but her slick hands soaked in the young man's blood easily slip out of them. She can imagine the texture of the old, rusted nail in her palm, and she sees the red seep through his teeth as she pierces the young man's skin.

Beth looks down, sees Judith in her imaginary blood-soaked arms, and she screams.

 

* * *

 

Rick's newfound dedication towards farming leaves Beth to watch over Judith more than usual. His mornings are filled with hard labor, his afternoons with planning and strategy, and his evenings with fortification and defense. He stops by as much as he can, even if only to press a kiss against Judith's forehead, but it's still something. Beth doesn't mind. As frustrating as children can be, there's something soothing and familiar about taking care of Judith.

Winter fades into spring, and Rick keeps on farming. Sometimes Beth takes Judith outside to play in the grass as her father works, and Judith tempts her father with endearing giggles, loud, vague syllables that are beginning to form fragments of words, and tiny outstretched arms. It's a sight no one can resist, and Rick is no exception.

It's one of those extraordinary spring days where Beth feels like she can almost smell summer in the air when Rick throws down his hoe and seats himself down on the blanket next to her. Judith crawls towards her father with a bright, toothless grin, and Rick chuckles quietly. "This is their best age," he says, helping Judith into his lap. "They only get more complicated from here."

"Was Carl like Judith?" Beth asks conversationally, marking her place in her novel with a dog-ear fold.

Rick guffaws loudly as he throws her a wide-eyed look. "Carl was crazy. Always climbin' into things, gettin' in people's way."

"Kinda like now, huh?" she jokes.

"Yeah," Rick affirms after a beat of silence. "Kinda like now."

Beth glances at Rick, and his eyes are downcast, looking at Judith with a small smile. "It's real sweet how you treat Judith," Beth comments. Rick looks up at her with an eyebrow quirked, his lips parted lightly. "Even after everything that's happened. She's lucky you're her daddy."

Bashfully, Rick shakes his head, stroking the downy top of Judith's head. "Nah, I'm just being her father. Ain't nothin' special about it."

"Sure there is," she insists. "You don't act like there's anything different when it comes to her. She's living just as good of a life as she would have before the walkers, and that's thanks to you."

Judith moves for one of her toys, and Rick reaches out and grabs it for her, depositing it into her lap. Judith bounces happily, and Rick sighs. "She ain't got a mother. I wouldn't say it's as good as before."

There's silence for a while. Lori is hardly ever mentioned nowadays, especially not around Rick. Beth still feels pangs of sadness and longing occasionally when she looks at Judith and sees Lori's eyes. Beth fiddles with the torn edges of her paperback while Rick silently entertains Judith.

"My best friend in fifth grade didn't have a mama," the blonde starts, eyes locked on to a nearby dandelion. She feels Rick look at her. "She died when my friend was three. Drunk driver t-boned her car one night. She never knew her mama, so she never understood the pain of her being ripped away," Beth's voice cracks towards the end of her sentence. She can see Andrea's scythe cleaving into her mother's corpse's head; she can see the blood running from her own veins as the mirror shard clatters to the floor.

"Beth-"

"No," she says forcefully, breathing deeply to push the sadness away. "My friend never knew how it felt. And Judith won't either. She might wonder, she might get sad, but she's  _never_  gonna hurt like we do."

Beth looks up then, and Rick's eyes bore into hers; she shifts nervously under his gaze. It is powerful and loaded and Beth doesn't feel like decoding the message, trying to understand how Rick feels, because Rick's pain, suffering, and coping mechanisms are things she'll never understand, and she'll never try to because it's not her place. Rick's eyes seem to focus in on her, and he breaks the stare by looking down at the wiggling infant in his lap.

"Carol told me that Judith almost said 'mama' to you the other day," he says, voice almost a mutter.

Beth reddens. "She didn't. Could've been sayin' anything, really."

"You ain't gotta feel guilty about it, Beth," Rick laughs a little. "You're all she knows."

"How would Judith even know the word?" Beth replies, tone defensive. "I sure ain't callin' myself that around her."

Rick shrugs and glances up towards the prison. "I wouldn't know. Judith sees more people some days than I do. Half them Woodbury folk thought you were her mother the first time they saw you."

Sasha runs through Beth's mind then, as well as the confused look on the woman's face as Beth disclaims Judith as her own. Beth feels a trickle of guilt in her abdomen. The thing she has tried to avoid from day one is right in her face: she doesn't want to replace Lori. She doesn't want to seem like the mother of Rick's child. Beth has never once considered herself Judith's mother. She is her caretaker, her guardian, someone who loves Judith, but she is  _not_  her mom.

Her face must tell all, because Rick speaks up again. "Even if you don't think you're her mother, you're the closest damn thing she's got."

Beth wants to cry.

Judith looks up from her toys and sees Beth across the blanket. Gurgling, she drops her toys in the father's lap and reaches out towards Beth, throwing her little body towards her. Rick steadies Judith and lifts her out of his lap and towards Beth, a small, reassuring smile on her face. "Go on," he says.

With a large exhale, Beth chuckles and brings Judith closer to her body, the infant snuggling into her shoulder. Rick stretches his arms and pushes himself up again, grabs his hoe, and waves at Beth as he returns to his farming. She whispers her relief to the wind.

 

* * *

 

 The quartet's rushed camp is inside the building that Maggie painted her message on. As the sun sets, Tyreese clears out the inside of the building, which was mostly barren save a few useless farm machines and ransacked shelves. He drags the three walkers out to the nearby woods, and takes first watch outside the building. Carol sets up Judith's palette inside, soothes the baby until she sleeps, then looks across the room at the other woman's back.

Beth can feel Carol study her, but she keeps her silence. She knows that her bloodcurdling scream from earlier had terrified Carol and Tyreese, but she couldn't help it. She had been honest to God fearful of herself.

"Beth," Carol starts quietly, her voice closer than it was when she was calming Judith. "We need to talk about what happened."

"I don't want to," she whispers.

Carol's fingers brush Beth's shoulder, and she flinches involuntarily. "No, I don't want to." Her voice is lighter than air.

"Sweetie, it's necessary-"

" _No_ ," she hisses, her voice laced with frustration, sadness, and confusion. She throws a heated gaze over her shoulder — maybe anger and intimidation would make Carol leave her alone — before turning her eyes back to the splatter of blood she's been studying on the ground.

With a sigh, she hears Carol's footsteps echo on the concrete floor. The door groans as she pushes open as silently as she can, and it screams when she closes it behind her. The crickets chirp into the silence, and Beth buries her head in her knees. Unwillingly she pushes herself off the tractor and sits on her palette beside Judith, her eyes scanning the infant's precious face.

She hears Tyreese's deep voice first. "It okay in there?"

"No," Carol responds, and Beth can sense her expression in her tone. "She's shut down completely."

"I ain't never heard someone scream like that," Tyreese says so quietly that Beth has to strain to hear it. She wishes she didn't try.

Beth thinks they're through until Carol speaks up again. "She's gone through something terrible," she says, her voice wavering as she speaks.

More silence, then Tyreese speaks. "I know."

"She won't talk about it."

"Then give her time," he replies, as if it's the most obvious thing in the world.

Carol laughs bitterly. "She's mentally unstable and we're travelling with an infant. If something happens and she's with Judith and she gets triggered, God knows what will happen. You saw her scream. What if we aren't there next time?"

"You tryin' to say Beth would hurt Judith?" Tyreese questions, his voice rising in a question. "She loves that child more than anything. She wouldn't hurt her."

"I'm not saying she would hurt Judith, Tyreese. But she forgets her surroundings. She could draw attention to a walker or people and she could get both her and Judith in trouble."

Beth squeezes her eyes shut, praying it would tune out their conversation. Carol thinks she's a danger to Judith, a liability. The sad part is, Beth thinks, is that she can see it. She's going to lose her mind, and Judith's going to go down with her. It makes her disgusted with herself, disgusted at the fact that she is making Carol and Tyreese take care of her when she's all fucked up and a danger to them all. Beth briefly entertains running off by herself, but she knows Carol and Tyreese would just go looking for her, and that's not any better than what she's doing to them now.

"Just treat her the same, like there ain't anything different," Tyreese grunts. "She's gotta heal, and she won't be able to if you treat her like she's damaged."

"But what if she-"

"Damn it, Carol!" Tyreese slams his hand down on the side of the metal walls, and it echoes throughout the building. Beth's eyes shoot towards Judith, who remains peacefully asleep. She lets out a breath she didn't even know she was holding. "You can't make everyone's decisions for them, woman. It ain't your place, and you know that. Let Beth deal with her issues in her  _own_  way, not yours." Tyreese's hostility shocks Beth, and in that moment she knows Carol and Tyreese must have faced something together. She senses the changed dynamic, which is inevitable when you're thrown with someone all alone in the middle of nowhere.

Daryl appears in her head, and she misses him. She wishes he was here because she has never met someone who understands her as well as he did. Beth knows that if Maggie was here, she'd be yelling and screaming at her just like the time she found out she had a knife hidden under her pillow. She tries not to think about either of them, because she doesn't want to start thinking about corpses and screams just yet. As Carol enters the building again with a sigh, Beth closes her eyes and tries to steady her breathing. She counts until she falls asleep, her body curled around Judith protectively.

 

* * *

  

Beth dreams about Daryl.

She's in the funeral home, fingers dancing over the keys on the piano, her voice fluttering in the air. Daryl is to her right, all stretched out and relaxed in the casket with his hands behind his head. There's something peaceful and comforting about the moment, because Daryl is the last person she would have expected to indulge in her singing, but it gives her a warm feeling in her gut that she doesn't quite feel like thinking about yet.

Folky favorites drift through the room, memories of her beside her mother on the piano back at the farm being entertained in her head. For some reason, she doesn't feel sad as usual when thinking about her mother, and Beth attributes it to the strong presence at her back, making her feel empowered, confident, and extremely comfortable. After her fifth or sixth song, she chances a backwards glance at the man in the casket.

He's stiff and straight in the casket, his arms back by his side, eyes slid shut. Beth thinks he's sleeping, so she scoots off the bench as quietly as she can and crosses the room towards him, a small smile dancing on her features. Daryl looks so different when he sleeps, so young and handsome, so relaxed. Beth traces her fingers over a faded scar on his cheek.

When wax and makeup dollop on her finger, her spine goes hard and she freezes instantaneously. She lets out a little yelp, and his eyes fly open; they're no longer blue and beautiful, but they're white and yellow and dead, haunted.

Beth manages to jerk awake with only a gasp, her eyes wide and mouth open. Carol turns around with Judith in her arms, bottle in the infant's mouth.

"Morning," Carol says carefully, hesitating only a moment. "Nightmare?" Beth nods.

Carol clears her throat. "Tyreese is out looking around before we take off. There's bound to be something nearby, with all this equipment." The blonde stands, popping her limbs and taking a drink of water. She doesn't meet Carol's gaze, opting to pack up camp instead.

Thankfully, they do find a town nearby as they travel down the gravel road. In the course of the day, the four of them manage to gather plenty of formula for Judith, a change of clothes for all of them, food, and a few jugs of water. Renewed and relieved, the group reaches the tracks again right before sunset. Carol skins and cooks a meager squirrel alongside some canned food they had scavenged while making a bottle of formula for Judith, who yawns and shifts in Tyreese's arms.

"I'll take first watch tonight," Beth offers, eyes glued on Carol.

The older woman glances up from her work. "You sure?"

"Yeah," Beth assures. "I've got nothing else to do."

Tyreese thanks her while he bounces Judith in his arms. Beth desperately wants the comfort of Judith in her arms again, but she doesn't trust herself and it makes her sick. She can tell that Carol and Tyreese are keeping Judith away from her; they've been passing the responsibility between the two of them all day, ignoring Beth's halfway extended arms and her hopeful gaze. It hurts, but Beth accepts it, because it might be for the best.

The moon rises, and the rest of her companions sleep. Beth plays with her knife for a while, twisting it and turning it in the light of the fire, alert of all the noises surrounding her. Beth sits in silence for a few hours, Tyreese's soft snores accompanying the crackle of the fire. On the other side of the tracks, Beth hears twigs snap and she sees a walker amble out of the trees. She waits for a moment as it wanders around aimlessly, entertained by the fireflies and the wind until she's sure it's isolated. Glancing around her camp quickly, she decides it's safe before crossing the tracks to take the walker down.

As quietly as she can, she creeps up on it. When she's ready, she throws herself in the walker's path and impales it through the skull, it's moan shattering the silence of the night. With her hand still wrapped around the hilt of her knife embedded in it's skull, she briefly glances at it's face.

She almost stumbles backwards, it takes her by so much surprise. The walker is almost identical to the man she killed back at her captor's camp. Everything about the walker's cold, only slightly decayed face reminds her of the young man that whispered into her ear, buried deep inside her and taking away her innocence one fuck at a time.

Quickly, she removes her knife from it's skull and backpedals away, watching the walker's corpse crumple to the ground. Shaking her head and breathing heavily, she crosses over the tracks again to the camp, her bloody knife in her hand, splatters on her face. She sits back down in her spot by the fire, staring into the flames, trying to burn her memories out of her head permanently. Before she knows it, she's sobbing, her breath coming out in strangled, terrorized gasps.

Beth doesn't hear Carol get up until she's beside her, peeling the bloody knife out of her hand gently. Beth looks at Carol and sees a person who sympathizes, a person who cares and worries for her for the first time since Daryl. With a shuddering cry, she buries her head into Carol's shoulder as the woman holds her against her chest, stroking her back and whispering soothing words in her ear.

She falls asleep with her head in Carol's lap, the older woman's fingers combing through her hair. Tyreese finds them the next morning like that, and he doesn't say a word; he smiles, gathers Judith in his arms, and asks what's next.

 

* * *

 

After two more days, another sign for Terminus is on the tracks. Maggie has left another note to Glenn, and Beth touches the letters of Maggie's name with a frown on her face.

"Does she think I'm dead?" Beth asks.

Carol frowns as well. Glancing at Tyreese, she sighs and puts a hand on Beth's shoulder, urging her back on the tracks. "You'll just have to ask her yourself."

Beth thinks back to the conversations her captors had about Terminus, and she chews on her thumb anxiously. The idea of her sister in a trap, alongside Sasha and Bob, unnerves her. She wonders what Daryl would think about the sanctuary.

"Something the matter?" Carol asks.

The blonde snaps out of it. "No, I'm alright."

She runs her fingers over the hilt of her blade in a nervous gesture. Beth's eyes flicker over the slogan on the wood one last time before she follows Carol and Tyreese.  _Sanctuary for all. Community for all. Those who arrive, survive._

"Sanctuary," she mutters to herself. "Sure would be nice."

 

 


	3. assurance

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tyreese pauses with the flask lifted halfway up to his mouth, only to mumble something before taking a larger gulp. Handing it back to Beth, he gruffly says, "Some of us got more demons than others."
> 
> "I've got a lot," she replies with a sad smile.
> 
> In which Beth learns how to cope.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thank you for the kudos, comments, & bookmarks!  
> cross posted @ ff.net

 

 

The tip of her knife sets perfectly into the grooves of the bark, and she wraps her little hands around the hilt before digging it deeper. She imitates a familiar action, mouthing the words into the silence of the night.  _I'm a dick, when I'm drunk._

Beth lets her hands fall limply to the ground, maintaining a loose grip on her dagger. She tilts her face up to the sky, swallowing memories and tears and emotions in several heavy, painful attempts. It's been weeks and weeks since she last saw Daryl, but every moment she spent with him is fresh in her mind like some kind of open wound: it bleeds and bleeds continuously until she quickly cuts off the flow, only to reopen later when she thinks about him again.

Her pain is self-induced and she knows it, but everything around Beth reminds her of him. The sunlight filtering through the trees, the crispness of dewy mornings, skinned squirrels and rabbits and even dead, decayed walker corpses cause little habitual flashes of Daryl in her mind. Sometimes it's his arms flexing as he loads up his crossbow for her. Sometimes it's the frayed edges of his sleeveless shirts, or the tips of his shaggy, dingy hair brushing across his skin, or the reassuring angel wings spread across his back. Sometimes Beth imagines the smell of nicotine, which has become something soothing and familiar to her, something that she craves, and she almost laughs out loud when she finds herself desiring secondhand smoke because it's a ridiculous notion, but it makes her feel calmer and safer; it gives her unstable mental state something to cling on to so that she doesn't collapse and fall apart like Beth knows she's liable to do.

Like some kind of coping mechanism, Beth focuses on Judith and Daryl. The light of her life for the past nine or ten months has been the sweet, innocent infant, and Beth feels a protective, maternal instinct to guard Judith with every last bone in her body now that she's here — living, breathing, and crying right next to her. It's different now, Beth thinks, than it was back at the prison. It's not a soft and nurturing sense of responsibility like before; Beth's overwhelming urge to protect Judith is something feral now, something dangerous and animalistic that's akin to a mother defending her young. The wilderness is no place for a baby, and with the dead of winter approaching, Beth puts Judith first.

Daryl is her constant, lingering goal. Beth will defend Judith, and she will travel with Carol and Tyreese to Terminus. Whatever the place is, Beth will go there, and she will fulfill her part. And once she's done — once Beth can step back from the fray and things will carry on — Beth will find Daryl, she'll find her family again, and things will be okay.

Or at least, this is what Beth tells herself at night when she's on watch, counting the seconds until she can wake Carol or Tyreese up for their turn. She tries not to think about her family, separated and potentially dead, or the red on her father's shirt. Beth tries to forget the faces of the men that hovered over her and touched her, raped her, because it consumes her and destroys her; it turns her into a blind, delusional and hallucinating mess of a human being that puts the people she cares about around her in danger, and Beth refuses to let that happen any more. Beth leaves her fears for her dreams, and she makes way for her determination in her waking hours.

Beth snaps to attention when she hears frantic murmurs and mutterings from beside her. Curled around Judith, Tyreese whimpers and flinches in his sleep, sweat rolling down his temple and fingers clenching and unclenching repeatedly. Beth frowns; it's an almost nightly occurence, and she understands the feeling all too well. Her fingers brush against his bicep right as he whispers Karen's name, and when she firmly clasps her fingers around his shoulder, his eyes fly open right after hissing another name.  _Carol!_

Tyreese's breathing evens out while he stares into Beth's eyes, and the big, powerful man looks fragile and afraid there in the moonlight, images of Karen and David's burnt corpses seared into his memory. Beth squeezes his shoulder and gives him what she hopes is a reassuring smile. He mutters his thanks eventually, rolling onto his back and sitting up as quietly as possible, aware of the sleeping infant beside him. He rubs his eyes tiredly and pinches the bridge of his nose. Beth hands him her flask of water wordlessly and he sips at it, eyes trained on the surrounding trees.

"Nightmares suck," she offers, trying for a semblance of normalcy.

Tyreese offers her a bland, empty smile. "Sure do."

"What are yours of?"

Sighing, he takes another drink. "Karen, mostly. Sometimes it's Lizzie and Mika." Glancing at her, he lifts a brow in response. "You?"

Beth twirls her knife in her hands, frowning down at the steel. "My daddy. Maggie. Judy, you guys. Daryl." She inhales. "Other… men."

Tyreese pauses with the flask lifted halfway up to his mouth, only to mumble something before taking a larger gulp. Handing it back to her, he gruffly says, "Some of us got more demons than others."

"I've got a lot," she replies with a sad smile.

"It's been a long time since Karen died," Tyreese starts, eyes locked on Beth. She avoids his gaze. "I still have my nightmares. Difference between now and then is that I focus on what I've got, but I never forget what I had."

Glancing at Judith, her small lips parted as she sleeps, Beth thinks of Daryl sitting across from her at the kitchen island, telling her without words that she changed things for him, that she gave him a newfound sense of hope and optimism in a world so gone to shit that recovery seems impossible. _  
_

"Oh," she says.

 

* * *

 

When Judith's first symptoms of teething start showing, Beth prays that it'll be as easy of a process for Judith as it was for the infant she helped babysit the summer before her sophomore year. She warns Rick ahead of time, and he assures her that he'll pick up as many things as he can to make up for the lack of a working freezer. Judith's first tooth emerges, and she seems fine, so Beth doesn't worry about it.

The week when Judith's second tooth peeks through her gums, Judith is hell on earth. Every waking minute, the poor child whines and screams until she has something to chew on. She refuses food, won't take her naps, and clings to Beth more than usual. Beth finds herself skipping out on laundry and fence duty in order to soothe Judith, and dark circles develop under her eyes as she spends hours trying to calm the baby enough to lure her to bed. While she's teething, Judith rarely sleeps through the night, and Beth wakes up more than once to piercing shrieks coming from the crib beside her.

On the fourth straight night of Judith's incessant pain, right after the second time Judith wakes up, Maggie drags herself into Beth's cell with an exhausted expression on her face. Leaning against the entrance and rubbing her eyes, Maggie gives Beth a weak smile. "How's Judith?" she lamely asks.

Beth resists the urge to twitch. "Fine," she lies, her frustration laced in her tone. "Peachy. Like an angel."

Maggie snorts inelegantly. Beth notes that she's dressed for bed. "She's wakin' up the whole cell block. Don't we have  _anything_  to help her out?"

"Unless someone's got some rum hidden 'round here, no." Wrapping a cloth around her finger and giving it to Judith, Beth looks at her sister with tired eyes. "She won't eat well, and she can't sleep, so she's fussy all the time because she's tired and hungry."

Crossing her arms, Maggie raises a defined brow. "You bring her to Rick?"

Beth sighs. "I did the first night. Just kept both of us up."

"You bring her to Daryl?"

Stuttering in her pacing, Beth looks at her sister. "I… no." At the look on Maggie's face, she adds, "I don't want to bother him."

"You don't want to bother  _him_ ," Maggie reiterates. Narrowing her eyes, Beth opens her mouth to defend herself and Judith — it's not either of their faults that Judith's teeth are hurting her, and Beth can't do anything about Judith's cries sometimes — but then Maggie pushes herself off of the wall and stalks off in the opposite direction of her and Glenn's cell, leaving Beth staring at the empty space her sister was just in, her mouth wide open. Huffing, feeling a little indignant, Beth continues her pacing, encouraging Judith to take out her pain on her index finger.

When she hears steps echoing down the cell block again, she assumes it's Maggie, so she keeps her head down towards Judith when they stop in front of her cell. Her visitor clears their throat, and she looks up with a prepared frown.

It's Daryl.

"Heard Lil' Asskicker ain't sleepin' well," he murmurs, mindful of those sleeping around them. Beth does nothing but blink; she's still blindsided.

Maggie pokes her head out from behind Daryl, giving Beth a triumphant look, before saying, "I'll be headin' to bed now, if it pleases you." She leaves, and Beth stands there with a whimpering Judith, bouncing her subconsciously in her arms, an inexplicable, embarrassed flush across her cheeks.

"I  _really_  didn't wanna bother you," Beth insists.

Daryl rolls his eyes and steps into her cell, peering down at Judith in her arms. "Hey there, sweetheart," he coos. "How's yer teeth?" Like clockwork, Judith attempts to throw herself out of Beth's arms towards Daryl, abandoning Beth's cloth-covered finger in hopes of Daryl holding her instead. Lurching forward to prevent Judith from falling, Beth untangles the infant and her blankets from her arms and gently hands her to Daryl.

Ever since the first time Daryl held her after his impromptu formula run, Beth marvels at the way he handles Judith. It looks so natural yet so surprising given Daryl's character, and no matter how rude it is, Beth always finds herself watching more times than not. It's endearing, she thinks, the way the toughest man in their family turns into a soft pile of mush around Judith.

While Beth stands there with a dumb, small smile on her face, Daryl abruptly plucks the wet cloth out of Beth's hands and strolls out of her cell. Silently flummoxed, Beth grabs a few more blankets and quickly follows him up the stairs to his own cell where he sits on his narrow bed and cradles Judith against him, pulling the blanket out from underneath him and shifting himself against the wall so that he's comfortable. Beth stands in the doorway awkwardly, fingers buried in Judith's blankets.

He looks at her and blinks once. "Go back to your cell. Get some sleep," he commands.

Instead, Beth sits down in the chair by the entrance. "In case you need anything," she explains simply. Daryl narrows his eyes in response, but he drops it.

Her body betrays her, and after a few loaded minutes of watching Daryl hold Judith, his own finger wrapped in the cloth in her mouth, Beth falls asleep in the chair, her head lulled back against the wall. When she wakes up at dawn, she's back in her own bed, tucked in under her covers with a creak in her neck. She spends several moments recollecting what she had been doing in the middle of the night before a small, knowing smile flickers on her face.

Beth stretches her neck out towards Judith's crib and sees the infant sleeping peacefully, the cloth gripped in her tiny little hands.

 

* * *

 

"How far away do you think it is?"

Carol shrugs, finger tracing the solid black line on the dirty map to Terminus. "Two or three days more? If we head straight there, that is."

Hands resting on the backpack they had rigged to carry Judith, Tyreese steps up beside Carol, glancing down at her as he speaks. "Wonder if Sasha's doing well," he comments offhandedly. With the gentle smile she's known for, Carol puts a hesitant hand on his forearm, reassuring Tyreese without any words.

Several paces behind them, Beth watches quietly. Ever since she's joined Tyreese and Carol, she's noticed their strange relationship that seems companionable with subtle, strained undertones that took her days to pick up on. It confuses her, because they are both such gentle, honest people, but Beth knows firsthand that sometimes people change whether they want to or not. Beth lets the two of them work things out; she travels as an outsider, occasionally contributing whenever necessary, focusing more on her stability and Judith's wellbeing than anything.

Tyreese and Carol set up another camp in the woods by the tracks, and Beth starts her ritual of setting up the alarm system methodically and quietly. Beth finds that if she keeps to herself and stays busy most days, she's calmer and less susceptible to random visions. She's gotten better, but she still hasn't held Judith since her incident.

Everyone eats their cold soup and Judith eats her bottle alongside some canned baby food Carol had packed. Judith's fussier than normal, whining and whimpering frequently until Carol hushes her and gives her a pacifier. Carol soothes Judith to sleep, and Tyreese takes first watch. Beth reluctantly falls asleep, knowing a new wave of nightmares will probably wash over her tonight.

She dreams about traveling up the tracks, Carol and Tyreese nowhere in sight; it's just her and Judith taking it one step at a time. It's almost soothing, until Judith starts screaming, and walkers swarm the duo. Beth fights most of them off, but she's nothing against a whole herd, so she watches as her and Judith are devoured until she wakes up with a start.

Judith's cries are echoing in her head, and Beth closes her eyes to focus until she realizes that the screams are real. Eyes wild with fright, Beth shoots up on her mat and finds Tyreese trying to calm the shrieking infant. Beth's standing with her knife gripped tight in her palm before she realizes what she's doing, and Carol joins her.

"What's going on?" Beth asks frantically.

Tyreese looks panicked. "Don't know, she was just sleeping and she woke up and starting crying like this!" He tries to gently muffle Judith into his chest, but she squirms free.

Carol takes Judith from her arms and bounces her desperately. "Come on, Judy, it's alright," she coos, but Carol's eyes are wide with urgency. "Tyreese, Beth, keep an eye out for walkers. She's going to draw them all here."

The cries are painfully familiar to Beth, and after steeling herself, she deftly snatches Judith from Carol's arms and cradles her close to her chest. Judith doesn't stop crying, but Beth peers into her open mouth and counts the pearly white half-teeth poking through her gums. There's two more than Beth remembers.

"She's teething," she explains to her distressed companions. Beth reaches into her pack and grabs a clean shirt, ripping off one of the sleeves with her knife and wrapping her finger in it. Judith takes it eagerly and her cries disappear, but Beth knows it's only a matter of time before Judith becomes distracted and starts her tantrum again.

Beth looks up, and Carol's arms are half-extended like she's expecting to take Judith back, but she slowly lowers them once making eye contact with Beth. Nodding, Carol silently gives unnecessary permission.

"We need to get out of here, now!" Tyreese whisper-shouts, muscles tense as he faces the forest. Beth sees the looming shadows of several walkers approaching them in the night. Hurriedly, Beth and Carol shoulder their packs and Tyreese grabs his. Luckily, they are right by the tracks, so they navigate through the few trees separating them and run in the direction of Terminus.

She hasn't run this hard in forever, but Beth channels her adrenaline, clutching Judith close to her chest. She didn't have time to load the baby into her backpack harness, so she doesn't have any free arms to defend them from walkers. She keeps her eyes out anyway, hoping they can outrun however many Judith alerted eventually.

It's well into the middle of the night whenever they stop running, and Beth almost keels over, breathing heavily and desperately wishing for a drink of water. The movement has kept Judith relatively calm and entertained, and although she's tired, Judith stays momentarily quiet.

Carol approaches her and hands her a bottle of water, which Beth takes greedily. She notices they're at a road, and Tyreese is looking down both ends while Carol stands in front of her.

"She can't be in the middle of the woods while she's teething," Beth says, Judith still cradled in her arms. "You remember how she was at the prison."

The older woman nods, catching her breath. "We'll need a house to board up in while she gets through it, then."

Beth agrees. "As soon as possible."

Wordlessly, they travel down the road in hopes of a safe place to keep Judith, who has thankfully fallen asleep in Beth's embrace. Her arms are sore and aching from Judith's weight, but Beth has an overwhelming feeling of assurance, that this is how things are supposed to be: Judith in Beth's care. Beth only hopes that she can keep her shit together, because Carol and Tyreese won't be letting Judith be put at risk like that again. Brisk, fall air cools the sweat on Beth's forehead as they walk down the road. As the wind blows, she tugs a blanket out of her pack and wraps it around Judith as softly as she can. If Judith got sick, Beth wouldn't know what to do.

Tyreese points out a narrow dirt road off the side of the one they're travelling on. There's a huge, rickety old house with a wraparound porch at the end of it that looks like it's been deserted for months. The door is wide open, which Beth figures is a good sign, and she holds Judith outside while Carol and Tyreese clear the house.

The sun is fully emerged by time Carol pokes her head out the front door and motions for her to come inside. Tyreese is poking through the kitchen when she steps in the entryway, and Carol sheathes her knife with a sigh. "There's a crib upstairs," she says.

Nodding, Beth softly walks up the creaky stairs and finds the room with the crib. Carol follows her up and stands in the doorway while Beth puts Judith down gently, hoping the infant will continue sleeping through the day. Once Judith is down, Beth rolls her shoulders and rubs at her eyes.

Carol chuckles. "You look dead on your feet."

"I feel like it," Beth meekly agrees.

Pursing her lips, Carol pushes off the doorway and approaches Beth. "You're so good with Judith, Beth." It sounds like an apology.

Beth glances at the crib. "I know." The older woman doesn't move, and Beth realizes what's happening. "You don't have to be sorry. I get it."

"I don't like it," Carol whispers. "Judith loves you. But…" she hesitates, and Beth can almost predict the words before they're out of her mouth. "You scared us."

"I scared myself," she admits, eyes focused on the carpet of the nursery. Beth sees blood splatters peeking out from underneath a rug, and her breath hitches momentarily and she sees red; she sees her nightmare becoming reality for a split second before Carol's gripping her shoulders again, forcing her eyes up towards hers.

Carol is firm and steady as she speaks. "You can't let yourself see these things, Beth. You can't let yourself because you're the only person who can stop it from happening."

Biting her lip, Beth nods again in affirmation. She's heard the same thing from both Carol and Tyreese now — it's the same wisdom in different disguises. She briefly wonders why it hasn't hit home yet. Carol's hands slide down her arms and grips her hands, and the older woman opens her mouth as if to say something before losing her words. Carol squeezes Beth's hands.

"Just ask," Beth sighs.

Beth has to strain herself to hear Carol's hesitant whisper. "Did they use protection?"

It takes Beth a few seconds to connect the dots, and her mouth forms a small 'o' once she processes Carol's question. Beth feels fear creep up her spine.

"No," she says plainly.

Carol glances down at the floor briefly before swallowing heavily and nodding. She looks like she knew the answer all along, but she was just afraid to hear it. Carol brushes her fingers through Beth's disheveled hair and cups her cheek, summoning a gentle smile. Her eyes crinkle in the corners as she holds Beth's face. "Okay."

Her voice is shaky and Beth thinks she can see sympathetic tears in the corner of Carol's eyes, but Beth's too caught up in the moment to notice it. She is abruptly paralyzed because of the terrifying concept Carol is suggesting. Beth's been denying it in the back of her head all this time, a repeated reminder that  _I've already dealt with enough, there's no way_ that  _could happen too._  Everything is surreal now. Beth's surrounded by cribs and bassinets and bloody children's toys in a rickety old house that she would have fawned over back before the world fell apart; Beth's surrogate child is sleeping only inches from her,  _and children should not be a part of this world_ ; even though Beth knows better it still all feels like her fault, like she has some inherent guilt even though there was nothing more she could have done.

Beth takes a shuddering breath and immediately tries to force down the thoughts, her eyes clamping shut in the process. Carol soothingly strokes her face as she does so, and when Beth finally opens them again Carol is still smiling, and Beth can't think of anything more supporting, familial, and compassionate in the world.

When Carol finally ushers her into the other room so that Beth can sleep, Beth tries to shed her emotions with her dirty clothing. Rifling through the dresser of some teenage girl, she tries to avoid looking at the pictures displayed on top of the dresser. Beth selects clean underwear and socks, and as she goes to pull her hand out, her fingers brush against something solid and plastic.

It's a carton of cigarettes, more than half of them missing. Camel Lights, she notes. Beth sets the carton on top of the dresser so she can change, and afterwards she curls up in the bed that's pushed against the wall and mindlessly fiddles with a cigarette as she stares at the ceiling. Her free hand slips into her backpack without thinking and pulls out the Zippo that Tyreese had given her. Flicking the top open, Beth lights the cigarette and waits.

A few moments pass before she can smell the nicotine, and then her thoughts are on Daryl again, a cigarette hanging from his lips as he sets a trap or skins their dinner. The smell invades the entire room, and Beth knows it's seeping into her clothes, the sheets, her hair. She'll probably regret it later when memories wash over her when the wind blows just right, but she can't be bothered to care when her mind is running a thousand miles a minute and the thought of Daryl's angel wings and his hard eyes is the only thing keeping her balanced.

Beth goes through all of the remaining cigarettes, never smoking a single one. She sits there and stares at the ceiling, inhaling the familiar smell and replaying the nights at the moonshine cabin and the funeral home over and over again in her head. She lets her longing consume her until everything is Daryl and she swears she can see constellations of him forming on the popcorn ceiling of the nameless teenager's room.

She stays like that until she can't smell the smoke anymore, and when Judith's cries start echoing in the empty house, she buries everything and goes to her.

 

* * *

 

The group makes a temporary camp in the house until Beth decides Judith is done teething. Beth wakes up one morning and finds herself spotting down there, and she takes a huge breath of relief and snatches the box of maxi pads in the teenager's bathroom. Carol sees her do it, and she gives a knowing smile.

They set off one morning at dawn back towards the tracks, back towards Terminus, in a monotonous ritual that slowly grates at Beth's nerves. On the third day of traveling, the top of a brick building is against the skyline. Beth is a torn mixture of anxiety and anticipation, and she's sure her companions are feeling the same.

"We don't go straight for it," Tyreese recites, going over the plan once again. "We come up the backside, and we see what it's like. Then we decide."

Beth and Carol nod, the former absently stroking Judith's soft hair. Tyreese's eyes flicker between the two of them as he continues talking. "We stay together, and we stay quiet."

"Got it," Carol says. Tyreese stares at Beth, his solid eyes waiting for a response.

She nods. "Alright."

They take off.

 

 


	4. we've all done things

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> An overwhelming desire to hop off the floor, jump the fence, and beat the truth out of these two men takes over Beth. She wants to know where Glenn and Michonne are, where Daryl is, because she's been looking for her family for months and she's knowingly inches away from them for the first time in what feels like forever, and she refuses to let this opportunity go to waste. She must tense or move subconsciously, because Tyreese's hands clamps around her wrist, and his eyes are sharp and hard: _No._
> 
> In which Beth gets one step closer.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i can't say that i have a good excuse for the wait? i lost some motivation, had some familial issues, almost had my cat pass away, and also had to take a good 24 hours to cope with what i saw in the season 5 comic con trailer for this show. i'm sorry for the wait, truly, i hope this chapter kinda maybe makes up for it. maybe. probably won't. if you've seen the s5 trailer, sorry i can't incorporate mentalhospital!beth into this. i'd have to scrap it all :-( sorry to everyone once again. cross-posted @ ff.net

 

 

Terminus is not what Beth expected.

It's a ghost town. It's the hollow sound of blustering wind, the smell of charcoal, and abandoned train cars. The group walks around the outskirts of Terminus twice, and nothing changes. It's mid-afternoon when Tyreese leads them slightly away from Terminus, back into the wood so they can talk openly.

"There ain't a living soul," Tyreese sighs, rubbing his hands over his face. They're all frustrated. "Not a goddamn one."

Carol puts her hands on her hips, working her lip in between her teeth before she speaks. "Someone has to be there. Maggie, Sasha, and Bob were days, maybe even weeks ahead of us. We followed their trail. They must've made it."

"Maybe they're inside?" Beth suggests, cradling Judith to her chest. Beth's voice is muffled by the many blankets that keep Judith warm in the brisk, chilly air. "It's almost winter. Why be outside if you don't have to be?"

Tyreese grunts. "True, but there's not even any patrols. Anyone with that much secured land would be stupid to not have any patrols."

"I haven't seen a walker in a mile radius," Carol adds. "Maybe they are patrolling, but we've just been lucky to avoid it."

Silently, the group contemplates their actions. Beth's anticipation has faded into nothing but anxiety and a lurking sense of danger. She prays her instincts are wrong because her sister and her brother-in-law and more of her family are supposed to be there, but she hadn't seen any sign of a human being the entire time she watched. Beth chastises herself for her naïve optimism; she should have known the situation would never be that easy.

Crossing her arms over her chest, Carol furrows her brow as she speaks. "What should we do?"

"I still don't feel comfortable going in there blind," Beth admits. "Not with Judith."

While nodding, Tyreese agrees as he runs his hand over his scruff. "Me neither. This place doesn't feel right. But I don't wanna stay this close to it all night. We'll go back in for a little longer, then we'll hike back out to somewhere we can make camp."

"Judith needs to eat now." Beth glances at the sun. "In fact, it's her nap time too."

"I don't want to waste daylight," Tyreese gently insists.

After a few more minutes of hesitant back-and-forth compromising, the group makes a quick camp and leaves Carol with Judith. Beth is antsy, but it really is the best decision; Carol is more than capable of taking care of herself and Judith. She's the perfect balance between Beth and Tyreese, but Beth gets no consolation from that fact. Tyreese tries to reassure her, but it doesn't help the paranoia that creeps up Beth's spine or the fast, maddeningly anxious hyperawareness that washes over her body.

When Beth sees the chain link fence surrounding Terminus peek through the trees, she tries to focus entirely on her task. Her fingers constantly flit across the hilt of the knife strapped to her belt, and she works her bottom lip as Tyreese tiptoes through the trees. As she follows her companion's footsteps, eyes on the forest floor, she tries not to imagine Carol and Judith alone at the campsite; she tries not to let her horrible, twisted imagination get the best of her again. She hasn't let Judith out of her sight since the child started teething, and her absence hits Beth harder than she thought it would in the form of a stinging pain in her lower body. Beth attempts to fixate on the dried up leaves and the cold brick walls of Terminus. Like before, the 'sanctuary' is desolate.

Through some scraggly bushes and fallen branches, Beth eyes a white door that's slightly ajar. Winter is approaching fast, and Beth can't find the logic behind letting in even more cold air. The prison was shut tight during the winter, but she still remembers an occasional night of bone-chilling coldness that her ratty old blankets couldn't fix. She feels even more certain that Terminus must be deserted, because who in their right mind would—

Suddenly, her face slams into the ground, and there's dry soil and a leaf in her gaping mouth. She feels something wrapped around her ankle and she fights it; she squirms and pulls at her leg, hoping that Tyreese will see whoever's assaulting her and will save her because she has a creeping sense of deja-vu that's borderline pushing her over the edge again. Beth can't even scream because she's numb from her ankle up, but she's afraid to look down at who has her, because maybe faceless monsters are easier to confront in her dreams than familiar countenances.

"Whoa, Beth, Beth, Beth!" Tyreese whisper-yells, sliding down in the grass beside her. His hands are on her ankle and suddenly she's free. Her eyes are squeezed shut but she doesn't hear any kind of struggle, just Tyreese's even breathes as she tries his best to soothe her. "It's alright, sweetheart, you just got caught on somethin'. You're fine. I'm here. You're okay."

Beth cranes her neck upwards from her spot on the ground and sees a gray loop by her ankle. Silently, she sits up and runs her fingers over it before she tugs at it gently. She meets a good amount of resistence, but she pulls a little harder and she can see a strap of some sort buried under fresh earth. Beth's ashamed she didn't notice it before.

Tyreese scoops the dirt off from around the strap, and eventually unearths the object. It's a blue duffel bag, with gray straps, and it's half empty but heavy enough to have something important. "What is this?" Tyreese mutters as he sets it on the ground beside Beth, examining it silently.

While Tyreese stares, Beth leans forward and unzips the bag as quietly as she can. The first thing she sees is a gun, and then she sees—

Arrows.

She freezes instantly, and she feels Tyreese looking over her shoulder. He pulls out the gun, which she numbly recognizes as Rick's, and then lifts the arrows out of the bag slowly.

"Well, I'll be damned," he drawls.

Beth is too busy feeling her joints lock up and her spine stiffen at the sight of the ammunition. Her mind is a whirlwind and nothing is coherent except for Daryl. He was here and it was recent and he is with Rick, and suddenly her earlier concerns transform into something new:  _how long ago was he here, why hasn't he come back for these yet, who else is with him— Maggie, Glenn, Carl?_ She doesn't realize she's been muttering his name until Tyreese noisily shifts through the rest of the bag. She sees bullets, another gun, a couple of knives, and some food.

There's a loud bang, and her and Tyreese drop to the floor, the breath knocked out of both of them.

"You takin' A or B today?" a male voice floats through the air. The hair on the back of Beth's neck prickles.

She hears a groan. "B, please. I don't feel like getting jumped again. That last batch was more ballsy than the rest."

Beth is thankful for the vines and dead, rotting plants surrounding the fence and the area around them. Beth cranes her neck up in a very uncomfortable position, trying to push herself as flat on the ground as possible. She sees two heads, and the wind blows and the smell of cigarette smokes reaches her nose.

"The god damned Asian one jumped me the first time, remember?" the same man speaks. "I don't need the samurai lady doing it either."

An overwhelming desire to hop off the floor, jump the fence, and beat the truth out of these two men takes over Beth. She wants to know where Glenn and Michonne are, where  _Daryl_  is, because she's been looking for her family for months and she's knowingly inches away from them for the first time in what feels like forever, and she refuses to let this opportunity go to waste. She must tense or move subconsciously, because Tyreese's hands clamps around her wrist, and his eyes are sharp and hard:  _No._

The two voices fade away, and Tyreese and Beth stay pressed to the floor, waiting in silence for a couple minutes before Tyreese lets go of her hand. Beth glances at the bag and the arrows and Rick's gun; she thinks about Glenn and Michonne, Rick, Daryl. Beth shifts her eyes up towards Tyreese, and she can't deny the heaviness of her bones and the creeping sense of danger.

"What do we do?" Beth whispers. "They have everyone."

"You put your hands behind your head and get down on the ground," a loud voice calls out from behind them. Beth whirls around to the sight of guns and men and  _danger_ , and Tyreese immediately slips into a more flexible stance. A gun cocks somewhere from behind her. "Careful now, big boy," the same man repeats.

Beth is frozen. She can't run or fight back, but there's a part of her that remembers chains and abuse and solitude, and somehow that is more potent than the risks. Before she can move a muscle, there's a blunt jab at the back of her skull, and she sees black as Tyreese screams her name.

 

* * *

 

The first time she sees her sister and Glenn sneak a moment away from everyone at the farm, Beth has a sinking feeling that things are about to change.

It amuses Beth that one of her primary concerns during the apocalypse, of all things, is her bond with Maggie. Never mind food, water, or protection— that's what Rick, Daryl, and Glenn are for. All Beth focuses on is her family and maintaining as much of a comfortable atmosphere around the house as possible. It's only natural that Beth worries; for as long as she can remember, her siblings have always been there for her. Ever since Shawn died, Maggie was all she had to latch on to. Jimmy, bless his heart (she liked him, she really did), was immature and a little over his head more often than not, and Beth rarely found genuine solace with him much anymore.

Laying in bed, feeling more dead than alive, Beth's mind flashes once again to the rotting and decrepid body of what used to be her mother. She knows that she should feel more than what she does now. Beth understands that she should not feel like life is meaningless, but there is no use convincing herself that she's wrong. She wishes she wasn't so aware of her acceptance, because it does not make her next move easier.

Her attempt at recruiting Maggie was a complete failure, but Beth grudgingly accepts that she should have expected it. Instead, Beth thinks about Andrea— someone who is stronger than Beth, stronger than Maggie— and she ponders the consequences of her actions while staring at the plain popcorn of her ceiling. Maggie would cry, and Daddy and Patricia would too, but hasn't everyone cried lately?

Andrea's words echo in her ears as she pushes herself off her bed and onto wobbly legs. And later, it's Maggie's frantic voice that Beth can't shake while the blood from her wrist runs through her fingers and onto the floor, coupled with the banging on the wooden door and her own shaky cries. It's Maggie saying  _I'm not mad, Beth_  in a trembling voice as her skin burns and stings. It's Maggie crying as she screams about Andrea to a quiet Lori, it's her Daddy muttering to himself about her mother as he stitches her skin back together.

But most of all, even when Maggie's cried into her hair and curled up behind her under the sheets, it's that little voice in her head desperately chanting,  _no no no, I want to live,_ that she hears loudest of them all.

When Beth comes to, she immediately flinches, expecting ropes or chains or handcuffs. There's nothing but sheets, blankets, and a closed door, but she is frightened all the same. Her lower abdomen is aching something fierce, and her entire body feels like she's taken a beating. After pulling up her sleeves, she sees no bruises: just old scars and thin, pale skin. Beth's lethargy is extreme, but what scares her is how unexplained it is.

Beth manages to push herself out of her bed and to the door, but it's locked like she knew it would be. Her area is small and cramped with a narrow shaft of light too close to the ceiling for her to reach. It resembles a storage closet more than a room. Beth lays on her palette wearily, and begins to wait.

She can not say how long it is before she hears the first scuffle of boots outside her door, but it is infinitely longer before it finally opens. A young man strolls in, dressed in flannels and denim, and he sits himself down on a rickety wooden chair as he shuts the door behind him. Beth hears the door lock.

The man watches the dust float about the stream of light before sighing and looking at her. He says nothing, and neither does Beth.

"How do you feel?" he says.

Beth does not hesitate a second. "Who are you?"

He raises an eyebrow. "I see we are not into pleasantries. What's your name?"

"Who are you?" Her voice is scratchy, and her eyes are steel. She stares him right in the eyes as he speaks.

"What's your name?"

The way he speaks so calmly irritates Beth, but she tries to control her fear, her anger. "Who are you?" The second she finishes her question, Beth sees the way his jaw clicks, the way he leans forward in his chair ever so slightly. The hair on the back of her neck prickles as he repeats his question much slower, much more enunciated, much more dangerous and threatening.

"Beth," she concedes. "Who are you?"

He reverts back to his familiar tone. "Gareth. How long do you think you have been in here?"

"I don't know," she replies. "Where are my people?"

Gareth's lips quirk, and she feels dread and numbing horror. "You sound just like them."

Beth's panic is overwhelming, and it takes all she can muster to keep speaking. "What have you done to them?" She thinks about Rick, Glenn, and Maggie, about Tyreese, Daryl, Carol and Judith. Dear god— she doesn't even know where Carol and Judith are, whether they're alive out there in the wild, or trapped in a room just like her.

"Calm down, sweetheart," Gareth says. Beth did not realize she was shaking. "They're alive."

Her relief is palpable until Gareth continues speaking. "At least, for now. I'm in here because they staged an escape and killed many of my people. I'm debating on what to do, whether or not I should save them and use them, or if I should just kill them where they stand."

"Use them?" her voice is gaining its strength, but it is still hesitant and soft. "Use them for what?"

Gareth is silent for a moment, studying her face as he contemplates. "Have you ever done something… unseeming, just because you had no other option?"

"I don't want a conversation," she whispers, even though her mind filters through the men she's killed and the blood on her hands like clockwork. "What would you use them for?"

"Food." His answer is quick, simplistically stated, but jarring nonetheless.

Beth's ears buzz, and her mouth falls open a little. "You eat people?"

"We eat people, or we die," Gareth's false friendly demeanor has disappeared. "Like I said, we have no other option. We hunt and we grow food, but we have many mouths to feed. We thrive and we survive. Don't act so surprised, sweetheart. I'm sure you've done your fair share of regrettable things since the world's gone to hell and back."

"Don't eat my people," Beth begs, her voice breathily. She is desperate and her mind is muddled and confused with gory images of limbless family members and just the  _concept_  of it all, and suddenly she needs to vomit. Gareth watches silently as she retches beside her palette.

Gareth sighs. Leaning back in his chair, he wrinkles his nose briefly before he continues speaking. "I think I want to kill them. Does that make you feel better?"

"Why are you telling me this?" Beth questions. She thinks she is crying, she can't tell. "Why are you doing this to me?"

He does not respond right away, choosing to sit in silence as she heaves and tries to control herself. Beth's entire hope and motivation is her sister, her people, Daryl, Judith— and this man walks in, tells her he's either going to eat them or kill them, and she feels like it's the end again, like she's back in her bed at the farm with the smell of her rotten mother on her clothes and her skin, where things are meaningless and moot, with a mirror shard between her fingers.

When Gareth speaks again, his voice is lower than before. "My men found the woman and the baby yesterday. I brought her in after your people killed my people at the same time I brought out the man you were with. They all asked about you. They know I have you, Beth. Your sister begged and cried and told me to let you go. Why should I let you go— why should I let any of you go— when you've killed people that might have meant something to me?"

Beth cries, and he kneels down next to her, his face painfully close to hers. "Why should I  _save_  them?"

"Because you know what it feels like to lose someone," she says. "Please."

Gareth's jaw clicks again before he stands, eyeing her briefly before turning and barking a word towards the door. Beth faintly hears the lock click and is blinded by the light from the open door, her eyes unadjusted. Gareth says no more as he leaves and shuts the door behind him, the lock clicking once more in finalization. As footsteps fade away into silence, Beth sits in her dimly lit closet, begging and praying to any God out there for her own benefit, hoping that her family survives.

 

* * *

 

Beth cries for a while until she can't muster anymore tears and all she feels is the soreness of her body. She pauses to mop up her vomit with a sheet before tossing it in the corner and curling up into the fetal position. Beth sleeps and waits and sleeps some more, and the light in her room fades once before the door opens again. This time Gareth stands in the doorway, a frown on his face.

"Your people and I have made a deal," he says. "Get up. They want to see you."

 

 


End file.
